Heartbeat
by TheNightmirage
Summary: Zoey turned to face him, and then she took his hand and pressed it, along with her own hand, to her sternum. Her felt her heart beat under against his fingertips. "This is yours," she insisted.  Post-Sacrifice


The concept of being romantically involved with someone seemed almost foreign after all this time. It was more than three years ago that Louis' ex-fiancée had told him the terrible truth: there was someone else and she'd chosen the other. He'd been left with a ring (one that he'd spent quite a bit of money on too), a broken heart and a badly stung ego. Over the past three years the loneliness had gone away and the return of the ring had warranted a decent chunk of cash. The sting to his pride had started to recover, but he was finding it difficult to trust right now.

To be fair to Zoey, he could not deny she was completely different from Michelle. He was not on edge with her, nor did he feel a constant need to go out of his way to please her. He knew they were both struggling: they had just fought their way from Pennsylvania to Florida through swaths of zombies. Plus, he could tell there was another trauma hiding underneath that Zoey had not told him about yet.

But there were times when she was infectiously happy. The previous night they'd laid awake on the sofa pullout bed while they regaled one another with stories of college antics.

Nor was she particularly demanding in her need for affection. They were careful to be alone for their kisses, not wanting to ostracize or piss off Francis. They'd agreed to take it slowly; there was no need to rush anything when they were both simply grateful to still be alive. But they both found it difficult to stop once they'd started. Her lips were so perfect that he simply wanted to always be attached to them.

Now, they stood crouched on the outcrop of rock on the western end of the little island in the Keys they'd arrived at nearly a month ago. Zoey was staring intently down into the water, watching a group of fish float lazily around seemingly unaware that two people stood ready to pounce. It was a rather Neolithic approach to catching fish, but after Francis had attempted to make a pole, gotten so angry at his failure that he'd snapped it in half, and sworn off fishing they had little choice.

One fish separated itself from the group to investigate a small opening in the rock outcrop, and they both grabbed at it. Zoey's reflexes were faster and she launched forward first. Louis went half a second later, crashed into her and sent them both flailing down into the shallow pool. By the time they both realized what had just happened, the fish was long gone.

"Shit, I'm sorry-" Louis began, but he realized Zoey was nearly bent double with laughter so he decided an apology wasn't necessary.

"What a team we make!" she cried in between giggles. "How did the cavemen get anything done?"

"We're really going to have to find a pole," he replied. "Maybe we could take the boat around to some of the other islands again and see if they have any supplies."

"I guess."

Their last trip around to a neighboring island had warranted quite a load of useful supplies: food, more blankets, some spare clothing, and even some antibiotics. But the island had been a popular tourist destination before the outbreak, and, as a result, was swarming with Infected tourists. A wandering Witch they'd spotted sobbing in the suntan lotion aisle of a small shop even had remnants of a sun hat dangling from her mottled claws. Regardless of this hilarious sight, it had proved a difficult trip, and none of them were keen to make another one anytime soon.

Louis climbed back onto dry land and sat back against a rock. His leg stung from the contact with the salty water, and he rolled up his pants leg to look down at the deep-set scar. It had been over a month since the Witches in the hull of an abandoned boat had mangled it nearly to shreds, but it (with some help from the antibiotics they'd found) was healing decently. He still had to be careful not to put too much pressure on the leg. He had a nagging feeling it would never work quite as well again.

"What are you thinking about?" Zoey asked.

It was an unspoken agreement between them to ask this question whenever one of them grew silent for a while. It served as grounding back in reality and a barrier to onslaughts of horrible memories, but also as an invitation to talk if either needed it.

"Mostly my leg."

"Is it hurting?"

"A little, yeah."

"Take it easy. You can lie back and watch me fail at this fishing thing all by myself." She grinned as she sat beside him and patted the foot on his good leg. He chuckled.

"Is anything else bothering you?" she pressed him when he didn't say anything more.

"Thinking about the past."

"That's dangerous."

"I don't mean the Infection. Just thinking about shit that happened before that."

"Bad stuff?"

"Kinda."

"Wanna talk? The fish aren't coming back here anytime soon after that spectacularly terrible attempt at catching them."

He supposed he might as well tell her about Michelle. The topic had never needed to come up before they were together, and he had avoided it once they were. No one liked to hear about his or her significant other's past relationships if it could be helped.

"I never told you that a long time ago…well, three years ago…I was engaged for a little while."

An unrecognizable emotion flickered across Zoey's face but she said nothing.

"And it didn't end well. Not long after she agreed to marry me, she confessed she'd been with someone else for most of our relationship. And she chose to be with him in the end."

"Well, she was an idiot then," Zoey said firmly. Louis couldn't help but smile at the tenacity with which she declared this.

"And, I know it's not the same, but it makes trusting people harder than it used to be."

Zoey reached down and grabbed his hand.

"You don't have to reassure me-" he began to protest.

"No," she told him. "I do. Because I watched that, along with a lot of other things, ruin my parents' marriage. And I refuse to ever let that happen to me."

She turned to face him, and then she took his hand and pressed it, along with her own hand, to her sternum. Her felt her heart beat under against his fingertips.

"This is yours," she insisted. "And nobody's going to change that, whether we're stuck on this stupid island for the rest of our lives or we get rescued and go live with a colony of male models. Got it?"

"Got it," he replied.

His eyes were surely watering because of the pain in his leg (even though it had mostly gone away-he chose to ignore this), and the feeling in the pit of his stomach certainly had nothing to do with the fact that that was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to him.

They waited another hour to see if the fish were unintelligent enough to return (they weren't) before heading back up toward the house as the sun started to set. The climb back up was a little difficult on Louis's aching leg, and by the time they reached the front door he was all but clinging to Zoey for support.

And even though he lay awake for much of the night because of the constant aching in his leg, he noted, with shock and delight, that he hadn't felt so at peace for a long time…perhaps it had even been years. The Infection had stripped everything of false pretenses: the young woman lying asleep next to him, whose steady breathing caused a strand of her brown hair to flutter reassuringly, was more genuine than anyone he thought he'd ever met.

There was no time for saving face or putting on a front like there had been in dating before the zombies. She was just Zoey: an alarmingly witty nineteen-year-old with an impressive collection of movie quotes stored to memory for use in almost any situation and a willpower more powerful than most 50 year olds could claim.

And he was just Louis, not the IT guy who had to put on a cheery voice when someone called about their broken laptop, but a man with unwavering optimism that protected him against the crippling self-doubts that sometimes came floating to his mind in the dead of night.

Just Louis and Zoey. And though he could lie there and deny it all he wanted, he loved the sound of that. He loved her.

One day things would return to a sense of normalcy; Louis was sure of this. But until then he was happy to lie here on the lumpy mattress with a young woman he'd met not even two months ago who he loved so much that he wanted to wake her up right now and tell her.

But it was midnight. Now was not the time. He would tell her in the morning.


End file.
